


The Love That's Blind

by FlintMcC



Category: Eddie and the Cruisers (1983)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlintMcC/pseuds/FlintMcC
Summary: In early 1960s New Jersey, two young rock-'n'-rollers begin an intense relationship, but do they really understand what's happening to them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The author makes no claims to ownership of these characters, He is grateful to P.F. Kluge and to all associated with the film "Eddie and the Cruisers" for the enjoyment they have brought into his life.

A few birds had begun their early morning songs, but it was still so dark that there wasn’t even a hint of gray on the eastern horizon. The gig at Benton College was over, and the Cruisers were loading the band’s equipment into the U-haul trailer hitched to the rear of Eddie Wilson’s ’57 Chevy Bel Air convertible. Eddie had disappeared as soon as the band finished playing, leaving the rest of the Cruisers to break down the equipment, and not even Joann knew where he’d gone. After a few hours’ sleep, Sal put himself in charge of packing away the instruments and other gear. They needed to be on the road by seven o’clock. Frank was helping Kenny stow his drum kit in the trailer when he heard an exasperated Sal say, “’Bout time you showed up. Where the hell you been?” Frank’s view was blocked by the open trailer door, but he knew Sal could be speaking that way to only one person: Eddie.

“I had some thinkin’ to do,” Eddie replied.

“Yeah, and you left us to do all the work.”

“Shut up, Sal. Looks like you didn’t need me anyway.”

Frank came around the open trailer door. Kenny was right behind him, looking over his shoulder. Wendell, expecting trouble, backed away, as if to stay out of the line of fire. Sal and Joann were standing next to the trailer, Sal with his hands on his hips, Joann smoking a cigarette, which she immediately dropped to the ground and crushed out. She glanced from Frank to Eddie, a worried look on her face. She knew how Eddie could be when he lost his temper, and he looked about ready to lose it now. The tension in the air was palpable.

Eddie noticed Frank standing by the trailer door. He turned and glared at him. “You got somethin’ to say, Ridgeway?”

This was bad, Joann thought. Eddie never called Frank “Ridgeway.” “Frankie,” “kid,” and “Wordman,” yes, but never “Ridgeway.”

Frank squared his shoulders. “I’m done, Eddie. I’ll go back on the bus.”

“Go ahead.” Eddie said. “I’ll just call the union and have them send somebody else over.”

Frank said nothing more. He walked to the car and got his bag out of the backseat. He started off down the driveway to the college gate and the highway beyond. He never looked back. The others stood watching, looking uneasily at each other. Nobody said anything. Eddie lit a cigarette.

Joann watched as Frank’s figure receded into the distance. “Eddie,” she began, but the look Eddie gave her stopped her cold, whatever it was she was going to say. Kenny went back to work loading his drum kit into the trailer. Sal just stared. Wendell took out a handkerchief and wiped his lips.

Eddie took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out a column of smoke. He turned his back on the others and started off down the driveway.

“Where the hell are _you_ goin’?” That from Sal.

Eddie took his cigarette out of his mouth and said over his shoulder, “I’m goin’ to talk to Frankie.”

At least he’s gone back to calling him “Frankie,” Joann thought. That was a good sign.

When Frank reached the college gate, he dropped his bag and leaned against one of the stone pillars that supported the wrought-iron Benton College sign. He didn’t know when the bus would get there. He hoped the wait wouldn’t be long. He bit his lip, trying not to cry. How could he have fucked up his life so badly?

The Cruisers had not wanted to play Benton College. Eddie was sure that the college wasn’t the Cruisers’ kind of place, that they wouldn’t fit in, and that they didn’t belong. He accepted the gig for no reason except that Frank wanted badly to do it. And what had Frank done in return? Ever since they arrived, he had acted like an asshole, strutting and preening and showing off in front of his former classmates. Frank had used the Cruisers—he had used his friends—he had used Eddie—to show the privileged preppies from his old college just how “cool” Ridgeway the dropout had become.

And to top it all off, he had kissed Joann. She was Eddie’s girl, and he had no business kissing her, regardless of his own feelings, and Eddie saw him do it. Eddie Wilson was his friend, his idol. He was everything Frank wished he could be but wasn’t: cool; charismatic; and very, very sexy. Eddie had found him, a college dropout mopping the floors at Tony Mart’s, and made him a Cruiser. They had worked side by side to create some of the hottest rock-‘n’-roll songs in the country. The songs were climbing the charts, and the Cruisers were climbing with them, on their way to what Doc Robbins, the band’s manager, called “the bigs.” And Frank had just thrown it all away.

Eddie had paid him back with interest for his behavior and for kissing Joann. He had humiliated Frank in front of practically the entire student body of Benton College, calling him “Toby Tyler” after the little boy who ran away to the circus to see the wild animals. Eddie’s meaning was clear: Frank didn’t belong. He had sneaked into the Cruisers for the adventure of it, just as Toby Tyler had sneaked into the circus. Frank didn’t belong in a rock-‘n’-roll band. He belonged in some snooty finishing school like Benton College. So it was all over now, his friendship with Eddie, his place in the Cruisers. It was back to mopping floors at Tony Mart’s. Frank had never felt more desolate in his life, and the worst part about it was that he knew he had brought it on himself, and he deserved it for the way he had acted. He was wiping his eyes on his sleeve when he heard a familiar voice say, “Frankie.” Frank turned. Eddie was standing not six feet away.

Eddie tossed the end of his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his boot. “Take a walk,” he said to Frank, cocking his head. It wasn’t an invitation; it was an order. He turned and started to walk slowly away. Frank left his bag by the gate, turned, and followed Eddie, quickly catching up with him. As they walked slowly together across the dark college campus, Frank tried repeatedly to apologize for his behavior and for kissing Joann, but every time he started to say something, Eddie glared at him and said, “Shut up.” It reached the point where Eddie was practically shouting: “I SAID SHUT UP!”

Eddie had spent the night off by himself thinking about what had happened during the evening, and what he should do. Finally, he decided that he shouldn’t have humiliated Frank with that stupid Toby Tyler business. Yeah, the kid had behaved like a jerk ever since they got there, but so what? The kid idolized him. Eddie knew that. He shouldn’t have done that to him. And so what if he’d kissed Joann? Big fuckin’ deal. It was just a kiss, and Joann hadn’t exactly tried to stop him. Besides, Frankie brought something to the band, and brought out something in Eddie himself. He didn’t understand what, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to lose it. He needed his Wordman.


	2. Chapter 2

They found themselves behind the bleachers of the college stadium. The place was dark and deserted, not even one, single fraternity boy making out with his girlfriend. Eddie stopped and turned to Frank. “I oughta kick your ass, Ridgeway!” He began. “I took this gig just because you wanted to come here. Nobody else did, but you did, so I took it. For you. And ever since we got here you been actin’ like we’re some kinda freaks to show off to these pansy college boys and their stuck-up girlfriends, just to make you look like some big shot. We’re your friends, damn it!”

Through all of Eddie’s tirade, Frank didn’t look away. He didn’t try to interrupt, he didn’t try to make excuses. He stood looking Eddie right in the eyes while Eddie ripped him a new one, and he took it. Eddie was impressed. He hadn’t thought the kid had it in him. When he was finished, Frank said solemnly, “I’m sorry, Eddie. You were right. All of you were right. I was wrong. We shouldn’t have come here, and I’ve acted like an asshole ever since we got here. I apologize.” He added, “And I’m sorry I kissed Joann.”

Eddie exhaled. He put his arm around Frank’s shoulders, and the two continued walking deeper into the darkness behind the bleachers. Eddie bowed his head a bit. He was Eddie Wilson, up-and-coming rock-‘n’-roll idol. It wasn’t easy for him to admit he was wrong, but he looked at Frank and said, “I shouldn’ta done what I did to you. Toby Tyler.” He snorted.

“It’s okay. I guess I had it coming.”

They had almost reached the far end of the bleachers when Eddie stopped. He turned to Frank and held up his right hand, two crossed fingers. “You see this?”

“Crossed fingers,” Frank said.

Eddie separated the fingers. “Words,” he said, indicating one finger, “and music.” He indicated the other finger. Frank stared at him, not sure what Eddie was getting at.

“Words and music, Frankie, words and music. Without each other, they’re nothin’,” Eddie said. He crossed the fingers again. “Together. …” He left the thought hanging, unfinished. He looked intently at Frank. “Wordman,” he said quietly, “we need each other. Words and music.” He paused. The look on his face was almost pleading. It wasn’t like Eddie Wilson to beg; usually he got what he wanted through sheer force of his personality. But this time was different. Very quietly, he said, “Don’t quit the band, Frankie. Please?”

Frank said nothing for a minute or two, but now he understood what Eddie was getting at with the crossed fingers. Separately his words and Eddie’s music were nothing, but together they created something wonderful called rock-‘n’-roll. Eddie needed him, and Frank knew that somehow he needed Eddie. Despite the humiliation, he would not quit the Cruisers. “Okay,” he said. “If you still want me after the way I behaved, I’ll stay.”

For a long moment, they stood just looking at each other. Then, before Frank realized what was happening, Eddie threw his arms around him and pulled him close, holding him so tightly that Frank could hardly breathe, bending Frank’s head back, bruising Frank’s lips with his own lips, forcing his tongue into Frank’s mouth. Frank went dizzy from the taste of beer and cigarettes, the smell of Eddie’s leather jacket, the smell of Eddie’s stale sweat.

With an effort Frank pushed Eddie away and stepped back, shocked, gasping for breath, but looking intently into Eddie’s mesmerizing blue eyes. In the depths of those eyes he saw desire, a mirror image of what he now recognized in himself. He wanted Eddie. And then Frank Ridgeway threw himself at Eddie Wilson, grabbing and holding him as passionately as Eddie had just held him, pulling his head down, grinding his lips against Eddie’s lips, his crotch against Eddie’s crotch. The swelling in Frank’s khaki trousers met an answering swelling in Eddie’s jeans.

Without letting go of each other or even breaking the kiss, they slowly dropped to the ground. Eddie reached for Frank’s belt, unhooking the buckle, while Frank fumbled at the top button of Eddie’s jeans. Frank spun around, shoving his trousers and undershorts to his knees, dropping down on all fours in the damp grass. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it badly. He wanted Eddie in him more than he had ever wanted anything before. He looked over his shoulder as Eddie popped the buttons on his jeans, forcing them below his hips; he was fully hard. His eyes glazed, Frank quietly moaned, “Oh, God! Eddie! Yes!”

Eddie was already leaking copious amounts of fluid. He began rubbing his cock up and down the cleft of Frank’s butt. He spit in his hand and applied the slimy fluid to his dick and to Frank’s asshole. He grabbed Frank around the waist with both hands and entered him with one powerful thrust.

Frank bit his lip till he tasted blood to keep from screaming at the pain of Eddie’s entry, but he pushed back, impaling himself on Eddie’s manhood as deeply as he could. Eddie was his idol, and he wanted to give himself up to his idol totally, body and soul. As Eddie fucked him, Frank chanted, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” as if it were some sort of mantra. Eddie tightened his grip on Frank and gave three hard thrusts. Frank shuddered at his own release as he shot off into the grass.

Spent from his climax, Eddie collapsed forward, forcing Frank to the ground. Frank felt Eddie’s breath hot on the back of his neck. After the vigorous fucking he’d just given Frank, Eddie was gasping for breath like a spent racehorse. Between breaths, he murmured, “Frankie, oh, Jesus Christ, Frankie.” When he had caught his breath, he rolled off Frank and lay on his back in the grass. Frank turned over and lay next to him, his shoulder against Eddie’s shoulder. They looked at each other. Each held up a hand, fingers crossed. Words and music.


	3. Chapter 3

Saying nothing, they pulled themselves together and headed back to the car, walking slowly, side by side, Frank moving a little gingerly. They did not talk about what had just happened. They were half way across the campus when Frank almost hesitantly said, “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“The others. The way I’ve acted. Maybe … maybe I should quit the band?”

Eddie stopped. He put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Let’s get one thing straight, kid,” he said. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He gave Frank a small smile and rubbed the back of Frank’s neck. “I need my Wordman.”

“Thanks.” Frank smiled, embarrassed. His idol actually needed him.

They got back to the car just as the sun was coming up. All the band’s equipment had been stowed away in the U-haul. Kenny and Wendell were asleep in the backseat. Joann was in the front passenger seat, one elbow propped on the edge of the door, holding her head with her hand, holding a cigarette in the other. Sal sat behind the steering wheel, looking like a volcano about to erupt. When he saw Eddie and Frank approaching, he kneeled on the car seat, balancing himself with one hand on the seat back. He had his mouth open to say something, but then he snapped it shut without uttering a word. His brow furrowed as he squinted at his two bandmates approaching the car. No, he wasn’t imagining it. There were grass stains on the knees of Ridgeway’s khakis. What the fuck? He sat down, confused and suspicious.

Eddie walked around the car to the driver’s door. Frank was about to open the rear passenger door when Eddie said to him, “Frankie, you got somethin’ you wanna say?”

Frank nodded. “Guys. Joann,” he said, “I’ve acted like a jerk ever since we got here. I’m sorry. I apologize.” Joann smiled at him. Nobody said anything. Sal looked as if he were going to say something, but Eddie shot him a look, so he kept quiet. Frank opened the back door on the passenger side. He got in and nudged Kenny to make room.

Eddie opened the driver’s door. “Okay, Sal,” he said.

“I thought I’d drive,” Sal said.

“It’s my car. I’m drivin’. C’mon.”

Grudgingly, Sal got out and walked around to the passenger side. Eddie got into the driver’s seat. He put his arm around Joann and pulled her over to make room for Sal on the passenger side. “C’mon, baby,” he said to her.

No one had any breakfast that morning. By noon they were all starving. They got off the highway and found a diner. The booths were wide enough to seat three people on a side, so they all sat together, Eddie and Frank on one side with Joann between them, Kenny, Wendell, and Sal on the other, Wendell in the middle. They were all so tired from the previous night’s performance and lack of sleep that no one said much of anything beyond “Pass the ketchup.” But when Kenny was on his third Coke, the caffeine kicked in. He started bragging about the “hot chick” he had “balled in the bushes” after the performance.

Then Kenny moved on to the performance. “I never seen you like last night, Eddie,” he said. “You were great, man, like a wild animal. It’s like you were fuckin’ the songs.”

Eddie gave him a look but said nothing.

Then Kenny made a mistake, a big mistake: He called Frank Toby Tyler. Before Kenny even knew what hit him, Eddie had him by the collar and hauled halfway across the table. His blue eyes blazing, he said to Kenny, “Don’t you ever do that again. Y’unnerstan’?” He let go of Kenny’s collar, and Kenny slowly slipped back into his seat.

“S-s-s-ure,” Kenny stuttered, his eyes the size of saucers. Joann, Sal, and Wendell all looked on in surprise, but they said nothing. Frank just stared silently at his plate, but when Eddie was back in his own seat, Frank glanced sideways at him. Eddie was looking at him. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made Frank’s heart lurch.


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie couldn’t sleep.

It was about a month after Benton College. Doc had said that with their album, _Tender Years,_ climbing the charts, the Cruisers needed to be out on the road, to be seen, to create a following. He had booked an exhausting series of dates, most of them one-night stands. That meant travel, set up, play, break down, pack up, somehow grab a few hours’ sleep somewhere, get on the road, and then start the whole thing over again.

Everyone needed a rest and a break before they returned to Tony Mart’s on Friday, before Doc sent them out on the road again. They all tried to make the best of the precious free time. Joann went to visit her sister on Long Island. Sal went home to South Philadelphia. Kenny went off to Atlantic City “to chase chicks,” he said. No one knew where Wendell had disappeared to. Eddie stayed put to work on music for the new album. Frank just wanted a rest.

And Eddie couldn’t sleep. He sat up, swung his legs out of bed, and lit a cigarette. He was having an argument with himself, and he didn’t know whether he was winning or losing. He smoked a second cigarette as he sat on the edge of the bed, looking across the room where some music he had just finished writing lay next to the telephone. Finally, he took a deep breath and stubbed out the end of his cigarette in the ash tray on the nightstand. Then he got up, pulled on his jeans, and dialed Frank Ridgeway’s number.

The insistent ringing of the telephone woke Frank out of a sound sleep. He rolled over, turned on the bedside lamp, and squinted at the clock on the nightstand: Ten minutes to three.

Frank got up, and shuffled to the wall phone next to the door of his apartment. He picked the receiver off the hook. “Hello?”

Eddie’s voice came down the wire. “Hey, Wordman, I just finished some new music. You gotta hear it. I’ll be right over.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“So what? I’ll be right over.” _Click._ Frank hung up the receiver and hung his head. Just like Eddie, Frank thought. The music was more important than anything, even, apparently, a good night’s sleep.

Frank shuffled back to the bed. He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and loosely tied the drawstring cord at the waistband. For a few minutes he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. He decided that if he was going to be up the rest of the night going over music with Eddie, then he’d better have some coffee. Slowly he walked over to the kitchenette. He spooned instant coffee into a chipped mug. He checked the milk in the refrigerator: Sour. If he wanted coffee, he would have to drink it black. He filled the kettle with water and set it to boil.

Thanks to his royalties from _Tender Years,_ which had already gone gold; the advance from Satin Records on the album Eddie was working on; and income from gigs, Frank was able to afford an apartment. No more sleeping in the beer room at Tony Mart’s. The place, one room, was small and above a salt water taffy shop, but it was adequate. There was room for a bed and a chest of drawers. A kitchenette with a sink, a stove, and a refrigerator stood against one wall, next to the door to the bathroom. There was a small table with a couple of chairs. A sofa divided the space roughly in half. A small television with “rabbit ears” completed the living room area. Frank’s keyboard was set up behind the sofa.

He had taken only a few sips of his coffee when he heard footsteps coming up the outside stairs. Then came the knock on the door. Frank set down his coffee mug and answered it. Eddie was leaning on the door post, cigarette in one hand, music papers in the other, his leather jacket hanging open—and no shirt. Frank looked him up and down. He tried to keep his eyes on Eddie’s eyes, but those shirtless pecs and abs were too much. His mouth went dry. He couldn’t help staring.

“You gonna let me in?”

“Oh. Sure.” Frank stepped back, and Eddie came in. He headed right to the keyboard, sat down, and began to play while Frank listened. When he finished, he looked at Frank.

“Whaddya think Wordman?”

“It’s good, really good,” Frank said. “Here, let me play it.” They switched places, and Frank played his way through it.

Eddie stood by Frank’s side, leaning on Frank’s shoulder, his left arm draped over Frank’s chest. Frank was halfway through has second time playing the piece when he felt Eddie’s thumb brush over his nipple. Frank flinched. He ignored it as an accident, but then it happened again. He could feel Eddie’s breath hot against his neck. Then the hand that had teased his nipple dropped slowly into his lap. Frank jumped, banging on the keyboard as he felt Eddie’s hand grab his dick through the fabric of the pajama bottoms.

Frank sat slumped on the piano bench as Eddie’s hand went on to undo the loose knot of the drawstring and slip inside the pajamas, grabbing Frank’s hardening cock. Frank felt Eddie’s lips on his neck. “Oh, God,” Frank murmured. He knew this shouldn’t be happening, but, oh, God, did he ever did want it. He remembered what it was like behind the Benton College bleachers, and he shivered. His breathing got faster until, with a quiet exclamation of “Dammit, Eddie!” he swung around on the bench, grabbed Eddie’s head, and roughly jammed his lips against Eddie’s lips. Eddie pulled Frank off the bench, wrapped his arms tightly around him, and returned the kiss with a fierce intensity.

By the time they reached the bed, the few clothes Eddie was wearing were strewn across the floor. They were both already fully erect. They rolled onto the bed, Frank on the bottom, face down on all fours. To his surprise, he felt Eddie take him by the waist and turn him over. “No,” Eddie said quietly, “I wanna see your face.” He leaned in to nuzzle Frank’s throat. Then he pulled Frank’s legs onto his shoulders. He leaned in to kiss Frank once again.

Feeling Eddie’s hard-on against his butt, Frank gasped, “Nightstand!” Taking Frank’s meaning, Eddie reached for the drawer in the nightstand and took out a small jar of Vaseline. He used it to lubricate both Frank and himself before he eased in and began to fuck, first slowly and steadily, then with increasing passion until he exploded into Frank, and Frank exploded between the two of them.


	5. Chapter 5

When they finished, Eddie pulled out, rolled over, and almost immediately fell asleep. Finally, he could sleep. But Frank could not sleep. Finally, he nudged Eddie. “Eddie.”

Eddie raised his head off the pillow and squinted into the light of the nightstand lamp. “Hmm?”

“Why did you come here tonight?” Frank asked quietly.

Eddie propped himself up on his elbow. “To show you that new music,” he said, a bit groggily.

Frank kept his voice even. “That music could’ve waited,” he said. “You came here because you were horny. You wanted to fuck, and Joann’s away. And you figured you could fuck me.”

Wide awake now, Eddie raised himself up on one arm. “What did you say? Are you crazy?”

“You didn’t come here to show me that music.”

“Yes, I did!” Eddie was getting defensive.

“I thought Benton College was a one-shot thing between us,” Frank said. “So what the hell just happened here?” He struggled to keep his voice under control, but it quivered a bit. “Do you think I’m queer, or something?”

“No!”

“No, I’m not, and neither are you. So what the fuck are we doing, you screwing me? Why did you come here tonight?”

“I told you. I came here to show you that music,” Eddie repeated, scowling. But then he got quiet. He turned away from Frank and lay on his back, looking at the ceiling. Frank got the impression that he was having some sort of internal struggle. Finally, “Aw, hell, who’m I kiddin’?” Eddie said. He turned to Frank and said very quietly. “Awright. I came here because I wanted to fuck, but not because Joann’s away. I came here because I wanted to be with you.”

Frank swallowed, but he said nothing.

Eddie sat up. “I guess I better go.” He got out of bed and began pulling on his pants. Frank reached over and put his hand on his arm.

“It’s almost five,” Frank said quietly. “Why’n’t you just stay?”

For a moment, Eddie didn’t look at him. Then he slowly he took off his jeans and got back into bed next to Frank. At first he lay on his back, but then he turned on his side and put his arm around Frank, pulling him close. Soon his even breathing told Frank that he had fallen asleep.

Frank couldn’t get to sleep. He lay with Eddie’s arm across his chest. Now it was his turn to stare at the ceiling as if looking for an answer. A line from the Cruisers’ hit song kept running through his mind:

_Slip to the dark side and cross that line._

Was that what was happening? Was he crossing some line? Was Eddie? At Benton he had wanted Eddie badly, wanted to give himself to him, and tonight it had happened again. The want, the need, was just as powerful as it had been behind those bleachers. Finally, just before dawn, he managed to fall into a fitful sleep. When he woke up, Eddie was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Later that day, Frank sat at the table, his head in his hands, staring at a blank sheet of paper. The floor around his chair was littered with crumpled pieces of paper. He was trying to write lyrics for Eddie’s new music and having no success at it. Eddie’s music was becoming increasingly complex as he worked on the new album, and Frank found it correspondingly difficult to write words to go with it, even with the inspiration of Rimbaud.

His lack of sleep wasn’t helping, nor were intrusive thoughts about what had happened with Eddie during the night, thoughts that made his mouth dry and his dick tingle. He hadn’t showered, and he still had the scent of Eddie’s sweat on him. Or was he just imagining it? When there was a knock on the door, he knew who it was even before he answered it: Eddie.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Frank stood back, and Eddie entered and turned to face Frank, who closed the door behind him.

“I come to say I’m sorry, kid.”

“What for?”

“For last night.”

“You got nothing to apologize for. I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?”

“No,” Eddie said. He looked troubled, confused. “What’s happenin’, Frankie? I don’t understand. You’re right about Benton College. I thought it was a one-time thing, too, me fucking you to show you who’s boss. You’re a guy, but I like doing it with you. I know I’m not queer, but I like doing it with you, kid,” he repeated quietly. “I like it a lot.”

“You didn’t need to show me who’s boss. I know who’s boss. But you know what?” Frank’s voice got quiet. “I guess I wanted it in back of those bleachers, and I guess I wanted it again last night. I wanted it with you. I like doing it with you, too.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it: “I like having sex with you.”

For some moments neither said a word. Then slowly Eddie reached and brought Frank’s lips to his lips. No crushing, bruising kiss this time. This time it was slow and tender.

Eddie sighed. “I guess I better go. Joann’ll be back from her sister’s tonight.” Frank nodded understanding.

Eddie was about to close the door behind him when Frank suddenly called out, “Hey, Eddie?” Eddie turned. Frank held up crossed fingers: “Words and music?”

Slowly a smile spread across Eddie’s face. “Yeah, kid. Words and music.” Then he closed the door and was gone.

For a long time Frank stood leaning against the door. It was all very confusing.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank may have felt confused, but he did nothing to stop what was happening between Eddie and himself, whatever it was, and neither did Eddie. That night in Frank’s apartment was only the first time. Before long they were getting together whenever possible. They both wanted it. Frank’s heart beat a little faster when Eddie walked into a room. Eddie smiled when he saw Frank looking up at him over the keyboard at rehearsal or when the band played. They never gave a name to what they were doing. If they had to speak of it at all, they referred to the sex as _it._

The band’s schedule of rehearsals, performances, and road trips prevented them from meeting except in the afternoon. Eddie told Joann that he was getting together with Frank to work on music, and this was usually true, but sometimes he just wanted Frankie in his arms. Even when they did work on music, they usually ended up having sex.

One afternoon, Joann noticed that Eddie seemed tense and distracted. “What’s the matter?” she asked. They were spending a quiet day in their apartment before the band played at Tony Mart’s that night. Joann had borrowed Frank Ridgeway’s copy of _A Season in Hell_ again and was reading it. She put the book down and looked at Eddie, concerned.

Eddie shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair. “I ain’t happy with the words Frankie and I came up with for that song we been workin’ on.”

“You thought they were fine yesterday.” Joann was puzzled.

“Well, I had more time to think about it.” He thought a minute. “I’m gonna call Frankie.” He picked up the phone and dialed Frank’s number. As Joann watched, he said into the receiver, “Yeah, Frankie? I wanna go over those words again. Yeah. Okay, I’ll be right over.” He hung up the receiver and started for the door.

“Eddie?” Joann said.

His hand on the doorknob, Eddie turned. “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She indicated the music lying next to the phone.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Eddie picked up the music.

“Don’t forget, you called a rehearsal for seven o’clock.”

“I won’t. You can’t start without me, and we ain’t playin’ nothin’ we ain’t already played about a thousand times.” With that, he was gone, Joann looking after him as he went. Fifteen minutes later, he and Frank were in each other’s arms, Eddie murmuring, “I need you, Frankie,” Frank responding by holding Eddie closer, forcing his erection against Eddie’s thigh.

For some time after Eddie left, Joann sat, thinking and smoking. She thought about Eddie, and she thought about Frank. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. Then she went back to Rimbaud.

Frank didn’t have much experience with sex. He blushed whenever he thought of how he’d lost his virginity: Joann had brought a girl with a body like Venus to the beer room at Tony Mart’s and then left Frank and the girl alone. But he couldn’t imagine sex with any girl being more exciting than sex with Eddie. Dear God, how he felt with Eddie’s arms around him, Eddie lips on his lips, Eddie’s cock thrusting into him. Frank had been raised to believe that everything he and Eddie did would send them both straight to Hell, but he didn’t care. Eddie Wilson was worth the risk of Hellfire.

Joann liked Frank. She felt he was good for Eddie, who always seemed relaxed and happy after he had been in Frank’s company. If she suspected anything about their relationship, she said nothing. Sal, however, felt his suspicions deepen as time passed. He loved Eddie, and he worried. He remembered the grass stains on Frank Ridgeway’s knees. Something about the way those two looked at each other made him uneasy.

Doc kept the band on a grueling round of tours. They had played a gig in Binghamton, New York, and had stopped for the night at a motel outside Scranton, Pennsylvania, on their way to a three-night date in Philadelphia. As always after playing, Eddie was restless and full of energy. He and Joann made love, but the sex failed to use up the energy. He felt like he had a coiled spring inside him. When they finished, Joann fell asleep, but Eddie couldn’t. He got out of bed and lit a cigarette. The movement woke Joann. “Something wrong?” she asked sleepily.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Why don’t you take a walk? Maybe that’ll help.”

Eddie ran his hands through his hair. “Okay.”

The band’s rooms were on the second floor of the motel. The place was inexpensive, and the walls were paper thin. The sounds of Eddie and Joann making love had kept Sal awake in the next room. He was still awake when Eddie opened and closed the door to their room. He tried to be quiet, but the door stuck and the hinges squeaked. Sal got up, walked to the window of his room, and pulled back the corner of the curtain. As he watched, Eddie went down the stairs and took a turn around the parking lot, but when he came back upstairs, he passed his room and stopped in front of the room two doors down from Sal’s room—Frank Ridgeway’s room.

As Sal watched, Eddie knocked quietly. In moments the door opened, and Eddie slipped inside. What was going on? Sal wondered. What the hell was Eddie doing, going to Ridgeway’s room instead of his own? He got back into bed and smoked a cigarette. He hadn’t gone to sleep when he heard the door to Frank’s room open again. He looked at his watch. Eddie had been in Frank’s room for over an hour. He heard the door to Eddie’s room open and then close. Sal frowned and turned over on his side. Eventually he fell asleep, but he didn’t sleep well. He was troubled.


	8. Chapter 8

Then Wendell died, and Eddie was inconsolable. Two days after the funeral, he bolted from the stage at Tony Mart’s, unable to perform, leaving the Cruisers and the audience stunned. Joann saved face with a heartfelt and moving rendition of “Tender Years.” Then they all quietly left the stage. “Tony Mart” Martinelli, the bar owner, was livid at the band walking out. Joann pointedly reminded him that the Cruisers were bringing him more business than he had ever had in his life. If he was dissatisfied, she was sure other bars on the boardwalk would be happy to have the band. Tony clammed up immediately.

In the very early hours of the next morning, Joann phoned Frank. She sounded desperate and near tears. “Eddie won’t stop crying, and he won’t talk to me,” she said. “He thinks so much of you. Maybe you can help?”

“I’ll be right over.”

When Frank arrived at their apartment, Joann was seated at the kitchen table. “He’s in there,” she said, indicating the closed bedroom door. Muffled sounds of crying came from behind the door.

Frank nodded and entered the bedroom. Eddie was seated on the side of the bed, sobbing into his hands. He didn’t look up. Hesitantly, Frank sat down next to him and put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Feeling an arm around him, Eddie turned to see who it was. “Frankie!”

Frank was shocked. Eddie’s eyes were red. His face was puffy and tear-stained. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. His nose was running. Frank had no idea what to do to comfort him, so he improvised. When Eddie buried his head in Frank’s shoulder, Frank held him tighter. He rocked slowly back and forth while stroking Eddie’s hair with his free hand. “Sh-sh-sh,” he whispered.

Gradually the sobbing grew quieter and then ceased altogether. Eddie sat up and looked around, sniffling. Frank handed him the box of Kleenex off the nightstand, and Eddie blew his nose. Then he leaned against Frank’s shoulder again. When he finally sat up, Frank asked, “You gonna be okay?”

Eddie smiled a little weakly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eddie stretched out on the bed. As Frank was about to leave the room, Eddie called to him. “Hey, Frankie?”

Frank turned. “Yeah?”

“Thanks, kid.”

“Sure.” Frank smiled.

Joann was waiting in the kitchen, the look on her face a mixture of hope and apprehension. Frank said to her, “He’s gonna be okay.”

Joann hurried to give him a hug. “Oh, thank God. Thanks, Frank.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll make some coffee. I think we both could use some.”

“Yeah, if you haven’t got anything stronger.”

That night Eddie was at the top of his game performing. “The Dark Side” was never nastier, “Tender Years” never more poignant. “Wild Summer Nights” nearly brought down the house. Girls screamed and tore at Eddie’s shirt, a black T-shirt with ripped-off sleeves like he always wore to perform. Frank was happy, and Joann was relieved. Her relief was short-lived, however. Before dawn, Eddie woke her up, thrashing around in the bed, thrusting against the mattress, moaning, and calling Frank’s name.

Joann turned on the bedside lamp. “Eddie?” She touched him on the shoulder. When he didn’t respond, she shook him. “Eddie!”

Eddie woke up with a start. He looked around for a moment as if he didn’t know where he was. “Ho-lee shit.”

“Are you all right?”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair.

“Bad dream?”

Eddie sat up and looked at her. “We were in this big place, with a big audience,” he recounted. “We were gettin’ ready to play ‘The Dark Side.’ I looked around. You were there.” He pointed as if he were acting out the dream. “And Sal. And Kenny. But when I looked to see if Frankie was at the keyboard, he wasn’t there.” He had a puzzled look on his face. Joann nodded, encouraging him to continue. “He wasn’t there, and I didn’t know where he was. I went lookin’ for him, and it was this really dark place, and I couldn’t find him.” His voice rose, as if he were beginning to panic. “I couldn’t find him.” Joann noticed a tear run down his cheek.

She put her arms around him, pulled him close, and kissed him on the forehead. “Frank’s not Wendell,” she said, her voice quiet but matter-of-fact. “He’s not going to leave you.”

He gave her a rueful little smile, as if he were embarrassed by the whole business of having a nightmare and waking her up. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go back to sleep.”

Eddie nodded, but as he settled down on his side of the bed, he felt something. Frowning, he felt under the covers. The bottom sheet felt sticky.

Joann turned off the light, but she lay in the dark, thinking, before she finally drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

The Cruisers were returning home from a gig in New Haven, where they’d given the Yalies a lesson in rock-‘n’-roll. It was very late when they stopped at a Rest Area on the New Jersey Turnpike for gas and a stretch. The place wasn’t busy. Frank went to use the Men’s Room. Eddie followed him. The room was deserted, which was unusual. When they were both finished at the urinals, Eddie grabbed Frank by the arm and pulled him into one of the stalls, closing the door behind them, grabbing Frank for a kiss, and yanking Frank’s belt open.

When they finished up in the stall, suddenly they both went red in the face trying not to laugh. What they had just done had been very hot and very exciting because of how daring and dangerous it was, but when they both had their pants back up, the idea of having sex in a Men’s Room stall, at a Rest Area on the New Jersey Turnpike, suddenly struck them both as very funny. Frank left the stall first. He was washing his hands when the Men’s Room door opened and Sal walked in. They briefly met each other’s eyes, but then Frank looked away, finished washing his hands, and left the Men’s Room without saying a word or even looking again at Sal, who stared after him as he went.

A minute or two later, when Eddie stepped out of the stall, Sal was leaning against the line of washbasins, his arms crossed. Eddie stopped short. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there, much less Sal.

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Sal asked.

“Whaddyah mean, ‘What’s goin’ on?’”

“What’s goin’ on with you and Ridgeway?”

“Nothin’s goin’ on,” Eddie scowled.

“Bullshit! Everybody’s waitin’. You two were in here a half an hour. You gonna tell me you both had the shits?”

“Sal. …” Eddie was getting angry—and a little scared.

“Eddie. I’ve known you longer than anyone else. I love you like a brother. Now, what the hell is goin’ on?” Sal emphasized each word.

“I said ‘nothin’.”

“Benton College,” Sal said. “When you and Ridgeway got back to the car, there were grass stains on Ridgeway’s knees. I see the way he looks at you. I see the way you look at him. And that motel in Scranton? You spent an hour in Ridgeway’s room in the middle of the night. Now, you gonna tell me there’s nothin’ goin’ on?”

Eddie’s jaw was clenched, his fists were balled. How did Sal know about Scranton? He must have been watching from his room. He was breathing hard. “Sal. …”

“Awright. I’ll say it. Are you ballin’ Ridgeway?”

“Sal. …,” Eddie was really getting angry.

“Are you gonna tell me you ain’t?”

Eddie said nothing. He glared at Sal and bit his lip. Sal took that as an admission of guilt.

“Jesus Christ, are you outta your mind?” Sal exclaimed. Then came another, terrible thought: “What the hell? Are you queer?” Eddie Wilson queer? It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

Eddie took a swing at him, but Sal caught his arm by the wrist and averted the blow. “You sonofabitch, you sonofabitch.” Sal was near tears. “Tell me it ain’t so! Not you! I don’t give a damn about Ridgeway, but not you!”

Eddie jerked his arm free. In an instant, he had Sal trapped against the washbasins. His voice low and menacing, his eyes glaring, through gritted teeth, Eddie said, “I ain’t queer, and neither is Frankie. And don’t you ever say that again.” He turned and stalked out of the Men’s Room. But he was shaken.

Was he queer? Was Frankie? Eddie wondered. He couldn’t be. But Frankie’s body, and sex with Frankie, stirred him in a way that sex with Joann never did. Jesus Christ, he was Eddie Wilson, front man of the fastest rising rock-‘n’-roll band in the country. He couldn’t be queer. Yet somehow Frankie Ridgeway, his Wordman, raised a storm of desire in him that terrified him as much as it excited him. Just having the kid around made him happy, but Joann made him happy, too. It was all very confusing. He couldn’t understand it, and if he thought about it too much, it scared the hell out of him.

When Eddie got back to the car, he looked at Frank only briefly, but in Frank’s eyes he saw fear. Sal was stone-faced when he returned to the car. He got in, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t look at Frank, and he said nothing to Eddie for the rest of the trip.


	10. Chapter 10

When the Cruisers began recording _A Season in Hell,_ Eddie and Frank’s times together came to a halt from sheer lack of opportunity. Eddie kept the band in the studio constantly. The music was difficult, and the recording sessions were long and hard. Sal complained that he was breaking his fingers playing the music. Then Wendell’s replacement on saxophone gave up and walked out; it wasn’t easy on short notice to find another sax player who met Eddie’s exacting standards. Eddie drove everyone hard, himself most of all. He was short-tempered with everyone, including Frank. Once he even snapped at Joann when her voice went flat from exhaustion. Even outside the studio, all of them could see he was feeling a lot of pressure. To top everything off, even while the Cruisers were recording, they still had playing dates, including a couple of road trips.

When the recording was finally finished, Eddie slipped away to Frank’s place one afternoon. It had been a long while, and they both wanted each other badly. “Oh, God, oh, God. Fuck me.” Frank’s voice was almost a whisper as Eddie mounted him.

“I want you, Frankie, I want you,” Eddie moaned quietly into Frank’s ear as he began a long, slow, rhythmic fucking.

When they were finished, they lay holding hands, both still more than half hard. Then Frank surprised himself as well as Eddie. As Eddie watched, puzzled, Frank rolled over, spread Eddie’s legs, and knelt between them. He leaned over, supporting himself with one hand while, with the other, he gently stroked Eddie’s erection, which quickly came to full hardness. Then Frank lowered his head and took Eddie’s manhood between his lips.

“Geeezus, Frankie!” Eddie gasped, his eyes wide. “Frankie, you, no, I. …” And then he just gave in to the sensation. Never in his life had he felt anything like Frank’s lips and tongue caressing his throbbing manhood. His hips began thrusting as Frank bobbed up and down. Rapidly he was reaching the point of no return. He made a choking sound as he shot off. When he was done, Frank sat back on his haunches, looking uncertain. He need not have been concerned. Eddie had barely caught his breath when he pulled Frank against him, kissing him hard, thrusting his tongue into Frank’s mouth, tasting himself on Frank’s tongue. He held Frank tightly, trapped between his legs, until Frank shot off onto his thigh. Then, sated and spent, they dozed off in each other’s arms.

When they awoke, Frank found he couldn’t look Eddie in the eyes. “I, uh, Eddie, I. …”

Eddie took hold of Frank’s chin and lifted it so that Frank couldn’t avoid his gaze. He smiled. “It’s awright, kid,” he said softly. Then he kissed Frank again.

They lay quietly in each other’s arms for some time. Then Eddie sighed and sat up. “I better get goin’ before Joann starts wonderin’ what’s happened to me. I told her I was comin’ over to hang out with you for a little while. I guess it’s been a couple hours now.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “You know, she likes you, Frankie. She always says you’re a good guy.”

Frank lay silent for a bit. Then he said, “Do you think she knows? About us?”

Eddie looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. If she does, she’s never said anything, and she don’t act like she knows.”

“I think Sal knows,” Frank said.

“Why?” Eddie asked, thinking of the confrontation in the Rest Area Men’s Room.

“Sometimes at rehearsals I’ll look up and catch him looking at me like he hates me, or something.”

“Sal don’t hate you.” Eddie had never told Frank about Sal’s accusation. He saw no point in telling him now.

“Do you think we should stop?” Frank said quietly.

“Do you?”

“I don’t want to stop.” Frank’s voice was barely above a whisper.

With the back of his hand, Eddie caressed Frank’s cheek. “I don’t want to stop, either.”

Eddie got up and started to get dressed while Frank watched him. “Anyway, I gotta go,” he said. “Big day tomorrow.” He smiled at Frank. Tomorrow was the day to turn the master tapes of _A Season in Hell_ over to Lew Eisen at Satin Records.

Eddie paused while getting dressed and turned to Frank. “You know, I’m proud of this album, Frankie, real proud. It’s different, like something nobody’s ever done before.”

“You should be proud. The music’s great.”

“Yeah, but you should be proud, too, kid. I needed your words.”

Eddie leaned over and kissed Frank. He finished dressing, smiled, said, “See ya tomorrow, kid,” and started for the door. He was just about to close the door behind him when he turned and called, “Hey, Frankie?” He raised two crossed fingers. “Words and music?”

Frank smiled back at him, raised his own crossed fingers, and said, “Words and music. Always.”


	11. Chapter 11

The next day all the Cruisers and Doc, too, accompanied Eddie to the Satin Records office and studio. The day should have been a triumph for the band, and for Eddie personally. Instead, it was a disaster. When Lew Eisen, the president of the label, heard the new album, he hit the ceiling. This was what he’d got for his ten thousand dollar advance? Eddie’s music for _A Season in Hell_ was deep and dark, and so were Frank’s lyrics, to match the music. Eisen said that he couldn’t release anything like that. He wanted rock-‘n’-roll, something that would sell records. He accused the band of being “a bunch of jerk-offs making weird sounds.” He added sarcastically, “If you wanna be a poet, try Greenwich Village.” Doc tried to convince Eisen that the album could be fixed, but Eisen blew him off. The album was unreleasable.

Eddie was so angry at Eisen’s response that Sal and Kenny had to restrain him from physically attacking the record company executive. Then Doc turned on Eddie, yelling that they had had the money from Eisen in hand, and Eddie had blown it. Sal took Eddie by the lapels of his jacket and, almost in tears, told him that whether he liked it or not, he was wrong to turn out something like _A Season in Hell_ instead of rock-‘n’-roll. Eddie rushed out of the studio in a rage, with Joann close behind him.

Then Sal turned on Frank in a fury: It was Frank’s fault that the album was a disaster. He said that everything had been great until Frank came along. He accused Frank of ruining everything, of ruining the band, of ruining Eddie. Frank had the distinct impression that Sal meant he had ruined more than Eddie’s music. He left the studio without saying a word. He thought, What if Sal was right? What if it was all his fault? After all, he was the one who introduced Joann, and through her Eddie, to Rimbaud. He went home and got drunk on a bottle of whiskey that he had in the kitchen cupboard.

Frank woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache. He stumbled to the bathroom and swallowed a couple of aspirin. Then he turned on the TV for the morning news. He was just in time for film of a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible being hauled out of the Raritan River. The reporter’s voice-over said the automobile was registered to “the rising rock-‘n’-roll star Eddie Wilson,” who was missing.

Frank stared at the TV screen, slack-jawed and stunned. It couldn’t be possible. It had to be a mistake. Eddie? His car gone off a bridge? But Frank knew that car well. That Chevy was unmistakably Eddie’s. He tried the radio. The news report was the same. Plus, they were searching the river for Eddie’s body.

He sat down on the sofa. The reality of what he was hearing suddenly made him retch. With his hand over his mouth, he made it to the bathroom just in time. Then he felt he should call someone, but who? Certainly not Sal, not after yesterday. He wasn’t that close to Kenny. Joann? What if she didn’t know? Did he want to be the one to break the news to her? And then he thought, My God, what if she was in the car with Eddie? In the end, he called no one. He sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. Finally, after the third report of the accident, with no news of Eddie, he turned off the TV.

He was still sitting on the sofa, trying to absorb the news, when the phone rang. It was Joann. Thank God she’s okay, Frank thought. She asked, Did he know what happened? Yes, he had heard and seen it on TV. She was sorry he found out that way. She had wanted to be the one to tell him. She knew how close they were. How was he doing? Not so great. How was she doing? About the same. Eddie had always spoken highly of Frank, she said. He said that Frank understood him and what he wanted to do with his music. She would call when she knew anything more.

“Thanks.”

“And Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“I know.”

“You know?” Frank repeated, puzzled for a moment, thinking she knew Eddie was dead. Then he realized she wasn’t talking about the accident. “You know!”

“I know about you and Eddie.”

“How? Did he … ?”

“No. He never said anything. But I know.”

“How?!”

“When a man looks at someone he loves, you can see it in his eyes. I saw that in Eddie’s eyes when he looked at you. I saw it in your eyes when you looked at him.”

“Joann. …”

“It’s okay, Frank. I’m okay with it. Eddie loved you. I know he did, and I know you loved him. I know he loved me, too. That’s all that matters, I guess, the love. That’s all that matters now, anyway, and I guess maybe that’s all that ever really mattered.”

Frank shuffled back to the sofa and sat down, his head bowed. He remembered the first time he had ever laid eyes on Eddie Wilson, when the Cruisers walked into Tony Mart’s. That night Joann’s beauty had stunned him, but Eddie had taken his breath away. He remembered Eddie telling him he could join the Cruisers, and how Eddie taught him to play “The Dark Side” as rock-‘n’-roll. He thought of the two of them working side by side to blend words and music into a song.

He remembered how Eddie had humiliated him at Benton College, but then he also remembered how his life had changed behind the Benton stadium bleachers. He remembered his feeling of excitement whenever Eddie walked into a room. And then came the times in Frank’s bed, Eddie thrusting hard while Frank cried out for more. He had wanted it. He had wanted Eddie.

He thought about what Joann had said. Then the realization hit him like a slap across the face. Joann was right. Those times he and Eddie were together weren’t just fucking. They were more. They were making love. He should have known it then, but he knew it now. He wanted to deny it because, after all, they were two guys, but Frank was too honest with himself. No, Joann was right. He was in love with Eddie Wilson. How could he not have realized it? How could he have been so blind? Now Eddie was gone, and Frank would never see him again.

The thought that he would never again see the man he loved made Frank feel as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. It made him retch again, and again he just made it to the bathroom in time. When he was finished, he stumbled back to bed, fell face down, and began sobbing into the pillow. The last thing that crossed his mind before he fell asleep was another line from “The Dark Side”:

_Ain’t nothing gonna save you from the love that’s blind._

Thereafter, Frank Ridgeway always thought of that day as the Day the Music Died. It died with Eddie Wilson in the waters of the Raritan River in the early morning hours of March 15, 1964. His body was never found. Frank never wrote another word. Without Eddie, there was no reason.

_Epilogue_

“Somewhere after the Raritan Bridge … I reached a hand out to Joann and she took mine, but it was Eddie we loved.” – Frank Ridgeway


End file.
